


Too High

by RarePairFairy



Series: Fears [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Fear of Heights, Gen, Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:55:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RarePairFairy/pseuds/RarePairFairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cops have fears too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too High

John took a deep breath. Then he took another. Then he took two steps back.

Chris turned, exasperated and panting from the chase.

‘Hurry up Sheriff, _he’s getting away_.’

Normally “he’s getting away”, as a sentence, drove John up the wall. It was such a 90’s TV gimmick line. It was unnecessary. If the guy was getting away, he was getting away. Saying it out loud didn’t help.

But right now he barely noticed it. He was trying to catch his breath and trying not to look down, even though he was now a safe five feet from the edge, and Chris had stopped glancing between John and the roof he’d landed on seconds ago and was scowling as he walked around to find a ladder connecting the two buildings. Within two minutes he was at John’s side.

‘What was all that about?’ he asked. John tried to meet his eyes. He couldn’t for more than two seconds. He rubbed the back of his neck.

‘I’m not so good with heights,’ he confessed. Best to rip it off like a bandaid. Chris was silent for a moment.

‘You chase criminals for a living.’

‘Yeah, and despite what TV would have you believe, I don’t have to jump from rooftop to rooftop once a year let alone once a week,’ John replied, a little snappishly. He averted his eyes again and cleared his throat. Chris scuffed his shoe on the cement.

‘Sorry,’ John said quietly.

Chris shrugged. ‘We weren’t going to catch him tonight anyway,’ he admitted, though he still sounded put out. John shoved his hands in his pockets.

‘I need a drink,’ John grunted, and turned sharply on his heel. Chris mutely followed him back down the stairwell, through the building and out onto the street. The car was parked half a mile away. The chase had been long, and if they were any less fit one of them would probably suffered a heart attack by the time they hit the roof.

‘Dinner?’ Chris said, breaking the spell. John looked up to where he’d pointed.

‘Mexican?’

‘I like Mexican,’ Chris said with slight tilt of his head. ‘And they’re licensed.’

John thought of the expression Stiles would make at the idea of his dad eating Mexican food at 10:30 PM after a hard day’s pursuing annoyingly suburban wendigos, and brushed it off. Stiles was only allowed to monitor his dinner if he was the one ordering it.

And anyway, Chris was driving, so John could have a beer or two if he wanted.

A beer or two turned into three beers, and then when they got back to the Argent’s apartment it turned into three more. Both Chris and John were slightly giggly when they collapsed on the couch, cheeks tinged pink and all traces of adulthood more or less blunted with booze.

‘I remember the first time I saw you kick down a door,’ Chris slurred. ‘It was kind of a turn-on.’

John raised his eyebrows. Then he thought about it. Then he nodded and crossed his arms.

‘It _is_ hot, isn’t it? In a dominating, take-charge sort of way.’

He didn’t see at first how Chris’s expression darkened for a moment, how his hand seemed to drift before he reeled himself back in and grinned his noncommittal, slightly smirking grin.

‘Until someone admits they’re afraid of heights,’ he said. John shrugged, and looked Chris in the eyes.

‘Everyone’s got something.’

Then he took another swig of beer and spread himself out on the couch. A look at his watch told him it was past midnight. There was no way he was driving tonight.


End file.
